


sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

by whorerormovie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Deaths, Heavy Angst, Wanted to explore the idea of Claude dying, and Dimitri living with the guilt, edelgard makes a brief appearance, open interpretation as to whether they’re in a relationship, sylvain is trying his best!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorerormovie/pseuds/whorerormovie
Summary: Dimitri will forever seek the forgiveness of one of his ghosts, even if he must lose part of himself to get it.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say a big thank you to Brenda for allowing me to use her artwork as inspiration for this piece which can be found https://twitter.com/Pespo_/status/1262436580645638145 and https://twitter.com/Pespo_/status/1250979912661569537 .  
> Artwork depicts someone beheaded and contains blood, as does this writing (although not written graphically).

**THE SKY.**

Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd is the sky. Vast and blue he is untouched. Always out of reach, so high above, no one dares to fly to reach him. He is only meant to be looked up at, a symbol of liberation, hope and peace. 

Peace can only come with Edelgard’s blood. Her crimson wings of flames set fire to Gronder Field and brought smoke into his sky, replacing blue with black and bringing the night within daylight. In the dark there is nothing but shadow, suffocating, acting heavy in his lungs as he ran to clear the skies. 

Something up above brimming with light, it blinds him. The sun comes with urgency shedding it’s light over the masses, pleading with the sky to allow him to stay, but the sun’s light did not reach Dimitri. Every light casts a shadow, Dimitri remained within that shadow, remained within that nighttime, and thus struck the sun down with his javelin.

The sun sets as it falls from the sky, Dimitri never got to see it rise again.

**THE SUN.**

Claude Von Riegan was the sun. Vibrant and yellow, he elicited warmth when everyone else did not. His presence is something that’s felt by everyone in the form of light. His golden rays gave warmth to the frozen tundra, bringing forth the bloom from underneath the ice.

The sun was present but not always. Claude always felt the need to hide parts of himself, so he did it at night, when no one would miss him because of the moon. On occurrences he hid during day time too, behind a cloud, allowing her to invoke her intense emotions in the manifestation of thunder.

When the sky shunned the sun at Gronder it had crashed through the clouds and into Edelgard’s palm in Derdriu. She held a fragment of him, the color of him bleeding out, painting her in the hot reds of his blood. She held his head up high, so that the sky and sun may reunite for the last time.

The last of Claude’s light fell down the bone of his severed neck. With the last drop fallen the world became gray in that moment. His golden rays had vanished with him, leaving only their dead bodies behind. The world felt colder after that, the sky more empty.

Grey clouds shed tears in the form of rain. It’s hurried winds brought something to Dimitri, a long strip of fabric patterned with yellow and blues that had once belonged to Claude. Dimitri holds it tightly against his chest, in shock, as the world around him desaturates into hues of black, white and gray, forever edging him into a familiar darkness.

The rain washed away the blood, but the purity of rain could never clean the gore that pooled at his feet. He saw his reflection in a puddle underneath, the dull gray of blood soaked in by the rain. 

Dimitri’s fingers clenched tightly around the memento. The only thing that brought color to Dimitri was this, the sun and sky encompassed together in one item.

**THE CLOUD.**

Without the sun the sky felt barren, but clouds, they too can float in the sky. Dimitri gave her a chance to join him up above the others so that they could rule together. He wanted to give her the chance Claude tried to give him, wanted to reciprocate what was never given to Claude. This is what he would have wanted, a compromise where death isn’t required.

Ever so fleeting, she too was someone who could not be touched. Only meant to be revered from a distance for she is too high up along with her ideals. 

She had taken the sun, taken the light and replaced it with her reality. She made everyone watch the world through her lens, through the eyes of a tortured soul, so that everyone could find their strength just as she had. 

There is no goddess high up in the clouds, there is no one higher than Edelgard. She denies faith because no one should be above humanity, no one should be above her. Not anymore, she could no longer be that little girl chained beneath a false deity. Could no longer be that girl that had everything taken from her. This time she will do the taking, and she hadn’t been afraid to die because she already died once.

A dagger split into Dimitri like a bolt of lightning, as a consequence, she was impaled by areadbhar. 

Her death came quietly, there was no storm that followed her passing. The place above cleared when she dissipated out of the sky and into the afterlife.

There were no more gray clouds hovering above, only the clear blue of day and the dark of night with nothing to fill the void in between. He was alone again. His moments of coming of age were always marked by death, the death of his family, his people, his friends. Up above there was no one with him, felt like there is no heaven, just one sky that extended over Fodlan. 

Out of all of the lords he is the one who wished to die the most, now look at him, he’s the only one that remains. Such a twisted joke deserves a laugh, but the weight of his sins renders him silent, so his only choice is to weep. Existing is a burden, the memories of those who deserve to live plague his every waking moment. He can only repent for his actions, or lack thereof, to those he once cherished. 

A tear which flows out of him lingers on bottom lashes, crystalline in its figure, the droplet shatters into fragments when it falls onto the ground in homage. Then, he too falls in an act of submission, bowing to the sun of justice that occupies his throne. He is submissive when kneeling, going as far as putting his face to the ground, expressing humility when pressing his lips to the floor in worship. 

It is Claude who sits in the king’s chair, head unseen for the light that shines is too great. A symbol, the sun varnishes him, adding to the reverence of his name. The light is holy, Claude is the sun of justice, shining forever in our hearts to draw us to that light where you live in radiant glory, a prayer. 

Dimitri supplicates for forgiveness at the sun’s feet. Fingers grasping at a foot, feeling ever so solid despite being a phantasm. Lips kiss the outsole of the boot, religious in the arts, he becomes a devout king to his ghost. He wants to be forgiven, wants to feel the sun’s light wash over him, purge him, but alas the cloak shields Dimitri from the holy luminance. He waits in darkness even now, waiting for words that will never come, forever wishing to hear Claude’s voice absolve him from blame. 

“Your highness!”

That’s not a voice that reaches the heavens, it did not belong to the person whom he most wanted to hear. With no blessed sound to ease his turmoil, Dimitri crashes into the land from up above, losing his place in the sky like a fallen angel. 

“Your highness what’s wrong?” Whoever speaks does not relent and only continues to intrude upon the king’s worship. 

Beautiful gold begins to wither, all who knew its light now lay in somber shades. He feels a weight on him then, resting over the fur and pressing inward, until the vague feeling of fingers is felt betwixt scapulae. Air is pushed out, out with the old, in with the new. New air enters him, expanding his chest, making his heart pace, he’s alive, he’s alive, a divine punishment keeps him alive.

Dimitri turns his head, his single eye peering at ginger hair from behind blonde tresses. Brown eyes look at him patiently, the last of the sunlight making Sylvain’s eyes glow the sweetest shade of honey. 

Every king needs a knight, and through an act of mercy he was appointed a generous one. Of house Gautier, fitted fully in armor to protect his king, Sylvain acts as both a spear and shield appointed into one. It is duty that binds them but one cannot deny the love and fidelity that has strengthened this friendship over the years. 

Dimitri cannot deny his past. He’s done some terrible things, mistreated and misspoke to those who only wished to help. They were his friends, most still are and continue to support him even now. It is because of them that he’s rectified his path, because of people like Sylvain. The king tries to do right by him, truly he does, but no matter the many good deeds, it will never offset the bad, his ghosts will forever be in his woes. 

Over the years Dimitri’s outburst had mitigated. Initially those closest to him believed it to be a step towards recovery but soon realized that it wasn’t. He learned to live with his ghost, now they’re a part of him, tangible, just like how Sylvain is. No one sees what Dimitri sees, his entourage doesn’t know what bothers their king, he claims it is nothing, but they know Dimitri is entertaining his ghosts when his lips move and his voice is light as air. 

The knight believes that his king died in the war alongside the other lords, that’s why he frequents the company of ghosts, because he’s one of them. In moments he exists in purgatory, between the living and dead, that’s why he’s able to communicate with both. Sylvain had mourned his king for many nights, for many days. His tears had reached the underworld and created a river so that he may ferry Dimitri back when his mind carried him deep into hell.

Sylvain will protect the king even, even if it’s from himself.

“Sylvain?” Dimitri repeats in questioning. Always uncertain that he can rely on the images before him. Sylvain has touched him and it feels real, and yet, when ghosts do the same, they too feel real. Their cold touches leave burn marks on his skin, marking him physically when they could not do so psychologically. No one else could see the marks, no one else would believe him, he at times didn’t believe himself either. Regardless, whenever Sylvain touches him he feels warm.

**THE METEOR.**

Sylvain Gautier is a meteor. Rampant, hot, big and at times smalls when he phases through his sky. Flame envelopes him because he is passionate, he burns as hot as his hair is red, there is no denying his intensity when he’s high above with Dimitri in the sky. Sylvain may not be there always, but when he is it is a spectacle and it is meaningful. He is fugacious and distant, coming from a place so far that even Dimitri can’t reach, can't seem to understand. Yet despite their differences, Sylvain cannot help but fall for Dimitri, but just know that when he does, he falls alone. Dimitri cannot go with him because he will forever be part of the sky. 

“I’m here you don’t have to worry.” Sylvain responds and helps his king sit up. The hand never leaves his upper back, his ironclad digits placate the wildness of the royal’s fur, flattening the curling ends with the flat of his palm. It’s a calming gesture.

“Join me for tea will you? Looks like you need it after being all cooped up in here.” Dimitri should refuse, there is much that needs doing and besides-

Sylvain lifted him up to his feet, had wrapped his hand around Dimitri’s elbow and stood, pushing the blonde up with him. A huff of air leaves the knight’s lips due to the strain that comes with Dimitri’s weight and height. “Come on it’s a cup of tea, it’ll be quick, promise.” The corners of his lips tug upward, with that expression alone Sylvain asks to be indulged, not as a liege but as a comrade. Many would not dare overstep their boundaries with the king, most consider his word absolute, but the Gautier has known him since before he became king, way back when his title was just that of a prince and he lived happily. Sylvain is not like most, he’s a friend, so he has a bit of jurisdiction to make demands. 

The king allows it.

He allows himself to be led down numerous halls. The weary drag of his feet becomes background noise to join Sylvain’s words. The man speaks to him, many words at once and there is even laughter, a pleasant ephemeral sound. Dimitri doesn’t respond, not because he doesn’t want to but because he feels unable. So out of place with the living, it is just easier to be away from temptation. 

Sylvain understands his silence, understands every tick in Dimitr’s expressions, knows when Dimitri wants the quiet and when he doesn’t. He never pushes for an answer, even if he casually feigns acceptance at Dimitri’s lack of words. 

One thing, though, in moments like these Sylvain always latches on to him, as if he’s afraid that his friend will slip through his fingers. He holds on to Dimitri even tighter now as they reach the outside, cold wind blowing on their faces. Sylvain speaks for Dimitri when he requests warm water from the guards when they enter the garden. It’s not much of a garden now, since everything is buried under a thick sheet of snow, but what isn’t is stored in a greenhouse, which is where they are headed. 

From the looks of it, it must have just recently snowed noting from the lack of footprints. Might even describe its pillowy appearance as beautiful, but as northerners they know better than to romanticize the snow. It bites into their ankles as they thread through, the ice particles melting and soaking through the opening in their plating and into the linen below. Their breaths become animated with spurts of white smoke at the dropping temperature. Wearing armor becomes especially difficult in the winter for it is heavy, and alongside the cold, the joints move rigidly. 

At least they don’t shiver, showing some brand of immunity against the climate.

It is Dimitri who opens the door for them, clumps of snow fall from the door frame as an effect. His nostrils flare intaking the fresher air and the mild scent of flora. Not much light enters the greenhouse for its windows are tinted in flat black enamel to trap the heat. Other measures have been taken to ensure the plants survive, such as plotting them in pots above the ground. Those that require additional care are kept underneath row covers to ensure the cold doesn’t affect them greatly. Considering their resources, this is all they could manage for the time being.

Sylvain cracks open one of the windows allowing for insulation. The cold slowly creeps in, just as some light did too. Just as everything else had done, a few flakes of white sauntered in, embracing Sylvain’s cool tones with their cold embrace. Snowflakes cling to his eyelashes, as delicate as they are, they fall off when he flutters his lashes. On that note, Sylvain’s lashes are curly and long, notably longer than Dimitri’s. 

The knight shifted his profile to look at Dimitri, brown irises motioning for him to have a seat at a table for two, a wooden chiseled box rests in the center. “I’ll have you know this tea here is special.” He taps the lid twice, “very hard to come by.” He clarifies as he tilts the lid back from the sides, showcasing a limited amount of teabags, all of which smell like pine.

This is when one of the palace maids came in carrying a silver platter, its intricate handle details carved onto the sides. Sugar, lemon, and mint leaves all options to choose from fitted into little containers. Cups and spoons and more importantly, the kettle of warm water. When the maid sat everything on the table the king dismissed her. 

His hands, clad in metal, finely crafted to fit his fingers, reach for the kettle. The underside is clothed with a black layer, breathable and expandable fabric, he feels the steam drift upwards, condensing over his gauntlet as he pours water into both their cups. Careful as to not overflow, he shies a few centimeters from the margin. Dimitri then gently teases the cup forward towards Sylvain, expressing caution as to not spill the clear liquid inside. Then he repeats the action for his own cup. 

Sylvain’s is the one who acted next, by dabbing a tea packet into Dimitri’s cup. At first it floated, the color offsetting from light to dark, transparent to brown, complete opposites in the color wheel. The smell hits stronger than before, if there was any doubt before there certainly isn’t one now. His sense of smell is heightened considering he can no longer taste and lost the ability to see out of one eye. Dimitri, if anything, is a defect, a flawed monarch.

The color of brown sets deeper now, the packet inside sinking to the bottom. Dimitri holds the tag to maneuver the bag, and becomes immersed when a whirlpool forms. “Sugar?” Sylvain had asked, just as he stirred his own cup, but with a silver utensil. 

Claude had asked that very same question quite some time ago, coincidentally, it involved the same tea. Claude had shared that it was his favorite later on in the evening. Even went as far as to hold his hand and flip it over so that it rested supine over the table. The tips of his fingers felt smooth as they traced the lines of his palms, despite the ivory tone that comes with being Blaiddyd blooded, the paths laid were brown, a few shades lighter than the Riegan heir. When Claude mouthed Dimitri’s future, he had claimed that he would be part of it. That one day their paths would cross indefinitely and that he would be part of him. 

“Guess this is what you meant all along...” A weary smile, his eye waters as he brings the cup to his lips. A hot beverage heats his tongue and when swallows, it kindles a small flame inside his stomach. 

“Your highness?” A question that Dimitri cannot hear.

His eye is glazed when he settles the cup down. The tint inside reminds him of Claude, his skin, his hair, his lips, his bow, all variants of the color brown. “This was your favorite...” a weight on his shoulder, the fingers he feels clamp around him in affirmation, yes, Dimitri speaks the voice quietly in his head. 

“Your highness I’m worried about you. You don’t look well.” He reasons, the first of the meteorites stretching through the skies. Specs of browns from a distance, but close up, a massive and frightening spectacle. “You don’t have to be alone, whatever you’re dealing with, we can face it together. The job of a king is not a job that a single man can do, let us help.” Sylvain’s voice dips and he lessens his speed, taking his time with the words so that his king may unravel them at his pace.

“Sylvain.” His words have vaguely reached him. Dimitri closes his eye to fight the tears that burn at his duct. His grip on the cup acts to ground him, something to distract his body when he feels his lips parting, giving life to words that seem unlike his own. “There is no one more fortunate than I, to have you as a friend is the greatest privilege I’ve been granted. But please, do not worry about me, for I am always in company, I am never alone.”

The ghosts, they both think it. 

Sylvain doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to, his expression speaks for him. The dropping of his brows, the downward curve of his lips, the blatant disapproval as he shakes his head side to side, he’s disheartened among other things. 

The Gautier is perceptive, with more wit than he lets on and one hell of a conversationalist. He doesn’t say anything not because he can’t, but because this is the best outcome. Better to have this Dimitri, older, disciplined, someone who learns from his mistakes, rather than someone who keeps repeating them, volatile and someone who cannot be reasoned with. The king that exists now is not the real Dimitri, this one is a husk, the real one passed away a long time ago. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” His smile does not reach his eyes. “I do hope your company enjoys the tea.”

Dimitri’s cup begins to crack, the fissures closing in on the rim with every step Sylvain takes towards the door. Eventually, the cup breaks when the king is left without his knight’s company. 

Liquid spills down his fingers and over the shattered ceramic bits below, Dimitri can do little else but watch the vision unfold. Truth is his company cannot find enjoyment, partly because he had passed away, but most importantly is because he had no head. Whenever Claude appeared before him it was always a chilling sight, all body, no head, no audible voice, but yet Dimitri always understood what Claude wanted to claim. It’s been years, he misses the green of his eyes, and when he cannot have them, he comes here to marvel at the crisp greens of flora that remind him of the young Riegan. Colorful, too much color for this lifeless expanse sheathed in white. Regal blood flows blue within him, everything else is colorless in comparison. Green resembles life, vegetation, feeding off the land to prosper. It is livelihood, it is peace. With the winters here, there is no such thing, the frozen plains kill all forms of life, bringing famine to rich and poor alike.

It’s no wonder it had been so easy for him to take lives, he learned from his motherland.

Death reaches out for him in the form of Edelgard. Crimson gauntlets bury their might on to the meat of this shoulder, metal pon metal, she claws at the exterior. Dimitri looks unphased, meeting the violet of her eyes. Her ashen lips dent into a frown, she looks exhausted, despite being dead for years. With her other arm she brings out a headscarf, the very same one that had flown with the wind in Diedru. 

Golden detailing lines the margins, and in between was blue marked in various patterns. Dimitri has been keeping it over the years, it is very much his as it was Claude’s at this point. To keep a piece of Claude for himself is a comfort, as selfish as it sounds, it is the only thing he allows himself to have. 

“I was once able to free myself from my shackles, perhaps I can do the same for you now.” Even as he continues to age and she doesn’t, she still manages to speak with more purpose than him. Her conviction rebels even against death. 

Heels click as she begins to walk away. Her touch is fleeting, but nevertheless, he feels as empty as when she hadn’t touched him. Her cape dances with the wind when the door opens. Movement of fabric is erratic as the flow of wind becomes indecisive, fabric swishing with every gesture when she steps out of bounds.

Edelgard disappears as she is consumed by the light. Blinding as it may be, Dimitri sped after her. His arm outstretched and reaching, he misses her and instead grabs at nothing. He nearly tumbles when he steps out, his foot shoveling into three feet of snow. Flakes of frozen bits latch on to his lips, he is greeted by a snowstorm when he enters this desolate landscape. 

Here, wherever this may be, he is no king with no castle to rule from. There is nothing, only snow, a bleak horizon as far as he could see. Dimitri tugs his cape close in front of him as he walks. Where to? There is just no telling. 

Difficulty comes with every step. With the opposing wind it’s hard to find good footing, so he gets pushed back ever so often, that’s saying something considering his massive build. Sleet forms on the exterior of the breast plate, branching outward to stiffen the flexible joints of the armor. It creaks, it feels heavy, it is freezing.

Amidst the clumps of snow being hurled from all directions, he saw a spot of red in the distance. Edelgard, he will follow her wildly in death just as he had when she was living. No scream in the shape of her name, he thought of her name in silence, speaking not would be a waste of energy.

An emperor of white hair, white as snow, white as the clouds that don’t exist here. If it weren’t for her red dress she would blend in profusely. He’s found her, and when he goes to her the storm lightens up. Edelgard turns to him, looks up at him, and with a blank expression raises her hand to release. 

The headpiece slithers from her fingers and he, in order to regain it, runs towards the fleeting fabric, runs and trips, with only the snow to embrace him when he lands on all fours. It gains momentum, continues to drift higher, higher than he can ever hope to achieve when he’s so weighed with sin. 

Dimitri’s head slinks, his body curls inwards when he begins to cry. The chill of the exterior fills him when nothing else did, covering his heart, sheathing it in ice forever preserving it. It beats no more, not for no one, not even himself. He’s forever lost what kept him together, whenever he was about to break, Claude’s scarf tied him back together.. 

It’s all he had to remember him by. Now he’s lost the memento, just as he’d lost Claude.

Tears fall out of his eye. Lacrimal essence following down the curve of his nose and falling into the expectant snow. His tears create slick ice over the snowfall. Dimitri sniffed, his confession wrecking out of this desolate shell of a man.

“Claude, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, not even-” His hand balls to a fist and punches through the wicked cold underneath. “-when you needed me most.” Silence then comes, the fall of tears a hushed thing. “There was so much you wanted to say… so much I wanted to say… and now, I’ll never have the chance.” He sobs, his voice a broken sound, “i’m so sorry.” 

Snow begins to melt. white turns translucent, the liquid it converts to is then absorbed by the ground beneath, where blades of grass spring outward. Dimitri feels sunlight on him and under its influence, the ice from his cool heart dissolves. His sins sweat out of him, purification under this fierce light. 

The king, still on his knees, begins to sit up, his eyes downcast when he finds a pair of feet, recognizing them to be Riegan’s. Slowly he tilts his head up, his eye taking in the sight leading up to the Riegan heir’s neck, he stops there, knowing nothing else waits for him beyond. 

“Isn’t it time you did the forgiving?”

It’s his voice

Warm, inviting, without judgement, without blame, traits that his imagination could not mimic, Claude’s voice has struck his ears. 

Dimitri dares to look, and finds him there, complete to perfection. His smile is slight and genuine when Claude conveys it. A softening expression, wrinkles comes to his eyes as the smile stretches farther. Much of himself he had lost in the darkness, so he became the night, but Claude’s smile is so radiant that it lights Dimitri a path to dawn. Oh sunlight, Claude is blessed sunlight, who could blame the king of delusion for chasing after him? Dimitri’s heart took flight, and like Icarus, it flew too close to the sun. 

Claude disappeared, leaving Dimitri wanting. Nevertheless, whenever he looks up at his sky, he finds the sun and clouds alongside him.


End file.
